Touch
by we'll wait for our miracles
Summary: I never understood why he felt so real.  jack/tyler.  M for lots of smut.


**Author's Notes!**

**man. this is my new otp. jack/tyler is just masturbation at heart and i just -love- that.**

**well, this is an amarouse/jack fic. it's usually volatili/baku's territory to do the straight-up smutty stuff but this was just...**

**writing this was amazing.**

**this is rated M for three different smutty scenes. slash of the male variety, don't be lookin' for no marla in here.**

**Disclaimer!**

**i don't own fight club, mister chuck palahniuk does.**

**xxx**

I'd never understood why he felt so real.

Tyler was a figment of my imagination. Another persona, another me. There was nothing truly physical about him. He was just me. The fact that he was another me meant that even by putting a bullet through my cheek, I couldn't kill him.

"You think that little trick would work? I'm not going anywhere. Now, get rid of Marla."

And because Tyler told me to do it, I did it.

Everything had just gone back to square one. Back to our days together in the house on Paper Street. No Fight Club, no Project Mayhem. All of that had been taken care of. Whatever Tyler told me to do, I did it. We made soap; I got my payroll from my old job. Ozzy and Harriet. Normalcy, or as close as a person who spent their life with their other personality could have to that. Sweet content. Day in, day out.

Whenever he'd walk around the house, I would wonder which one of us was the hallucination. Was I picturing him or was I picturing myself watching him? He'd tell me, "Quit wasting your time with thoughts like this. Even if I'm only real to you, I'm real."

Which meant that no one else besides me could have Tyler.

"No, that means that nobody besides me can have you."

He would keep me his captive little pet, it would seem. I never had a moment alone. He was always with me, always there. It was like Catch-22. I didn't feel crazy. Tyler seemed real. Tyler wasn't real. I was crazy.

I'd read a lot about visionary and auditory hallucinations. I could understand why Tyler would seem so real when he wasn't. I could hear him and see him, it felt real. The mind was never a thing to be underestimated. I needed no one else because my mind had provided the one person I needed. Tyler Durden.

I would never understand how he felt so real.

He'd throw me against wall. Hard. He'd strip my clothing off of me, pressing my chest into the wall viciously. All I could do was weakly claw at the wall as he whispered into my ear.

"Still wondering why I feel real, aren't you? I told you. I'm real to you. I'm _real._"

I'd close my eyes as I heard the teeth of his zipper come apart. He put his cigarette out against the back of my thigh, causing me to cringe. I gave no noises of pain. I gave him no noises at all. 

"And I told you that you belong to _me._"

He slammed into me. Hard.

I couldn't understand why this scorching, burning pain felt so real. I couldn't even tell if it was even real or not. He groaned behind me, hands still pressed hard into my shoulders, slamming every inch inside of me with brutal force. I felt like I was splitting in half.

"Make noise."

One hand traveled up, gripping my hair, jerking my head back. I gave him what was barely a whimper.

"Louder!"

"Ah…"

My mouth was hung open in a silent scream. Pain flooded through me as I felt blood drip between my legs. Tyler groaned again and I knew that he loved this. Loved every tiny second of it.

"Never done this before, have you?"

It took every ounce of strength in my body to shake my head.

"Say my name."

"N-nnh…"

"Say my name!"

He crashed my cheek back against the wall. How I was staying on my feet amazed me.

"Say it!"

"Tyler…!"

That one whisper, barely a whisper, stripped a loud moan from his lips. That moan made me shudder. I'd be lying if I said I'd never wanted this, but it wasn't exactly going the way I had hoped.

"You wanna come?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Beg me. Beg me to let you come."

He pulled almost all the way out, shoving back in roughly. This time, however, the pain was much, much briefer. A flood of pleasure replaced all the pain I was feeling. He was teasing me. I'd beg him for more. He'd known from the beginning that I would. A moan sounded from the back of my throat, still too quiet for his liking.

"More…"

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I w-want… I want you to fuck me…"

"Pathetic."

He gave me what I wanted. He continued those thrusts, deep, each and every one of them against that spot inside of me that made me see stars, made me moan his name in pleasure. I don't know why I could feel his thick, throbbing cock stretching me, but I could. I wasn't complaining. I don't know how my own mind could make me feel this good, send me soaring over the edge, but it did. I don't know how I felt him fill me, groaning loudly as he did so, before he pulled out, letting me fall to the floor.

"Real enough for you?"

I was living in my own little fantasy land and I was one-hundred percent aware of that. I wanted nothing more.

I'd never know why it felt so real when he'd shove my face into his lap as he drove, one hand on the wheel, one hand pulling himself free out of his jeans. I don't know why I could feel it when he'd shove himself down my throat, bucking his hips into my mouth. I don't know why I could taste him as he came, his fingers knotted into my hair, his moans and panting louder than the radio. But I could and I loved it just as much as he did.

For a technically single man, a shut in, I had a better sex life than you could ever dream of having.

"No one else could ever make you feel this way."

Perhaps it was because he _wasn't_ real that whenever he'd bend me across his lap, jerking my pants and boxers down my hips, forcing three fingers into me at once, that it was perfect. Burying his fingers deep inside me with one hand, stroking himself quickly with the other.

"I'd kill anyone who ever tried to touch you like this."

I panted, twisting and moaning in his lap, eye to eye with his erection. He'd give me pleasure when he wanted to, he'd give me pain when he saw fit. His favorite trick was degradation. I knew he loved treating me like I was nothing. He knew I loved it when he treated me like I was nothing.

"Look at you. Subjecting yourself to another man. You're nothing. Women wouldn't do what you do."

That's right. You're completely right, Tyler. I'll hang onto every word he spits at me. I am soaring in euphoria.

"You're nothing but a little bitch. _My _little bitch."

I'll take it because I know that he wouldn't do this to anyone else. Not to Marla, not to Angel Face. Not to anyone else, even if they fell on their knees and begged him to. All because he'd rather put a boot in my stomach and make _me_ beg for him.

Why it feels so real whenever those fingers scissor and stretch, when they hit against my prostate so hard I can barely breathe, is beyond me. Why it feels so physical, so _good_, whenever he moans my name and releases against my face, I couldn't tell you. Tyler is the only person who could make me feel this way, sending me into complete ecstasy again and again.

"You belong to me."

I don't really know what you would call what Tyler and I have love. I don't know if you could call it lust. It's beyond lust, beyond obsession. It's completion. I don't know if you could even give it a name because he isn't even real. But none of that matters to me. I wouldn't change a thing.

He belongs to me.

_-fin-_


End file.
